The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,110

out in a quavering voice. The guards passed on the message.

“Has it brought a list of demands?” Goda asked the others. “I wonder.”

The three of them hurried down. Goda, Kiras and the ubari went to the lift along corridors and past battlements and catapults. The open cabin took them down to ground level for the main gate. A soldier came up, a roll of parchment in his hands. “It was posted through the barrier into the spy-hole, Maga,” he explained.

“Put it down,” Goda instructed him. “Carefully.”

The guard looked surprised. “It’s only parchment.”

“Do what you are told!” snapped Kiras. “Who knows what spell they might have put on it. It could be a trick.”

The soldier did as he was ordered.

Goda approached the roll and spoke a security incantation to check whether the enemy magus had impregnated the parchment with a spell that would start to work when it was unrolled. She relaxed when the green flickering cloud did not change color—a sure indication that all was in order.

She picked it up, unrolled it and read:

Defenders,

I, Bearer of Many Names on this side of the Abyss and beyond, demand that you surrender the fortress with immediate effect. Open the gates and withdraw!

Further, I demand the entire hinterland be instantly subjected to my rule. I am inclined to be merciful if this happens without delay. If not, pity will be shown neither to soldiers nor citizens and I shall instruct my warriors that everything is to be destroyed.

I, Bearer of Many Names, am in possession of power beyond anything your own magus can compete with. Your magus should surrender to me voluntarily. If, on the other hand, I am forced to, I shall use my might to sweep him aside, and then shall have my troops wreak greater havoc still on the land.

The reply to this announcement must be received within seven sun courses, no more.

If the reply is not forthcoming within the set period I shall consider my demands to have been rejected and I shall know how to proceed to achieve my justified claims.

Nothing and no one can save you from my anger if you challenge me.

Goda handed the parchment to Kiras. “Insolent is too harmless a word for this fanatical rubbish!”

“Arrogant,” judged the undergroundling on skimming the content. “Arrogant and stupid. Someone’s getting rather big for his boots today.”

The maga went to the gate and had the sentry open the spy-hole. Directly in front of her she saw the red shimmer of the sphere the foe had erected, providing cover for war engines to be moved in close. You would not make demands like that unless you had great power, there was no disputing that. “Maybe he really is that powerful.” She clutched one of the diamond splinters and prepared a spell to attack the red sphere.

A narrow bolt of lightning sped through the spy-hole from the tip of her middle finger; it hit the barrier.

There was a humming sound like in a beehive and then a dark coloring spread where the spell had struck. Red turned to orange and then finally to dazzling yellow.

“Close up the spy-hole!” Goda commanded, stepping away from the gate.

Kiras and the guards could no longer see what was happening on the other side but they heard a loud explosion.

The fortress gate, although reinforced with iron plates, bolts and rods, shuddered under the impact. The hinges shrieked and flakes of rust flew off the metal. The blast was so strong that the entrance opened up a little as some of the metal fastenings fractured, flying in splinters around the heads of the defenders. The ubari standing at Goda’s side was struck and fell to the ground groaning; the undergroundling cried out and grasped her head. Shrapnel had torn off half her ear.

Goda, attending to the needs of the wounded, vowed never to try an experiment like that again. It doesn’t bear thinking about what would have occurred if I’d used a really strong spell.

She knew now that the barrier would return any attack with tenfold magic firepower.

Girdlegard,

Protectorate of Gauragar,

Twenty Miles South of the Entrance to the Gray Mountains,

Late Winter, 6491st/6492nd Solar Cycles

Ireheart watched the vanguard of the Black Squadron—whatever that might be—come riding out of the little valley to arrive ten paces away from where Tungdil was standing in a dip in the landscape. He could do nothing to prevent this. He could make out ponies and dwarves with dark armor remarkably similar to that of the Invisibles.

As soon as the squadron noticed the sledges